


Restrained

by marlowe78



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (but minor appearance), Captivity, Civil War Team Iron Man, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, I try to be fair, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Minor Injuries, No character bashing, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, POV Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Restraints, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Made Mistakes, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Talking, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trust Issues, Unreliable Narrator, but he tries, shouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29964474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe78/pseuds/marlowe78
Summary: “Captain, Captain. You might want to reconsider that move,” the person – deep voice and right now Steve couldn’t give a fuck about correct gender-identification so he’ll go with ‘man’ – snickers and Steve feels something shift and then the blackness from his eyes vanishes as a blindfold is removed.Steve wakes up in a room with Tony Stark. It will be a long time until they get out, but luckily - ha- they have a lot to talk about.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!   
> First off: I am firmly on Tony's side with the events of Civil War but I do understand that they both made mistakes and I'm trying to be fair. So if I offend anyone by taking too firm a stance on the Tony-side, please just click off and read something that you like. I'm not here to make anyone unhappy. Steve deserves some love, and I want him to be a character that I can like. 
> 
> The story is set after Infinity War, but obviously they solved the Thanos-problem differently. I might write one day how that happened, just ... *handwave* 
> 
> The story is finished, I just don't know where to put the chapter-breaks yet. It'll be maybe 4 or 5 chapters, so... enjoy! 
> 
> Oh, and one more thing: if you like this, or have (polite) thoughts about anything or find mistakes that just need to be corrected (like cap/cab, for example), please leave a note. I really appreciate it so much!

Steve wakes with a gasp and without thought, his fist flies up and punches at whatever or whoever he could feel standing by. It isn’t an unreasonable reaction, considering his last memories are of being caught like a giant tuna in a net that sipped away his strength until ten men could hold him. 

He doesn’t remember what happened next, but he had probably been taken. 

The punch doesn’t land on anything. Instead, there is a resistance that reminds him of the weight-machine in the gym, a pained grunt from further away and a chuckle that has the hair on his skin stand on end. 

“Captain, Captain. You might want to reconsider that move,” the person – deep voice and right now Steve couldn’t give a fuck about correct gender-identification so he’ll go with ‘man’ – snickers and Steve feels something shift and then the blackness from his eyes vanishes as a blindfold is removed. 

As relieved as he is about not being permanently blinded, it’s not exactly a positive exchange.

He’s in a room, white walls and cold, hard, tiled floor on which he is sitting. Even supersoldier-serum can’t prevent his ass falling asleep, and Steve can already feel it numbing from the cold. 

He really doesn’t like the cold. 

Slightly to his left crouches a man with a full beard and dark eyes, a strangely kind face with laughter-lines and a smile. Only the empty cool in his eyes betray that it’s a façade or, possibly, kindness is just not on the table in this particular situation. 

“Who are you?” Steve asks and shifts, taking note of his hand positioned left and right of his head, elbows at ninety degrees, chains so short that his wrists touch the wall. He moves them and can feel resistance from behind – again, the weight-machine comes to mind – and he wonders what that’s all about since it’s highly unlikely that someone would go to all that trouble of kidnapping Captain America and then putting him in a place from where he’ll easily escape. 

They’re just normal shackles, rather loose around his wrists. It wouldn’t take much to break free. Give him a few seconds and he can get it done. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” the man tuts and touches Steve’s elbow. “I wouldn’t do that. See, Captain Rogers, even with our draining-net, we wouldn’t be able to hold you for long. You’d be out of here in no time. So…. How do you keep a supersoldier in a room? Well,” the man smiles benignly, and it’s one of the scariest things Steve has seen to date. “You don’t. You make sure he stays voluntarily.” He moves to the side and there, on the other side of the room chained to the wall in nearly the same manner as him, eyes covered by a blindfold, sits Tony Stark. 

Holy Shit. 

“What… Tony?” 

Stark focuses on his voice and grunts. His jaw, Steve can see now in the dim light, is occupied by some kind of muzzle or gag and oh, that explains why he’s uncharacteristically silent. 

“See? This is a very low-tech solution to a high-stakes problem,” the man continues. “You might have noticed the weight on your shackles, so I’ll make sure you understand why it is ill-advised to use your super-strength to get out.”

Without warning, he grabs Steve’s wrist and yanks his arm forward, pulling the chains out of the holes in the wall behind him. The rattle, like in a movie with ghosts or pirates or criminals locked in a dungeon, is loud and disturbing but it’s a joke in comparison to what happens on the other side of the room. 

Tony jerks upright from his slump, neck strained and he groans, then scrabbles with his feet trying to get up and higher because there’s a rope around his neck, running through a ring and creating a loop, basically a choke-collar and _there is a choke-collar around his neck_ and Steve’s arm had somehow pulled the rope tight and upwards. Tony can’t use his hands; they’re chained up like his except without the pulley-system and it’s preventing him from really getting to his feet. It wouldn’t help anyway – the rope fits into the hole in the wall only slightly above Stark’s head and he’s in a position where his back is arched and he can’t stand and he can’t sit and he’s choking and Steve jerks his hand out of the stranger’s grip and lets it be pulled backward and against the wall again. 

Shit. “You asshole!” he curses. “Tony? Sorry, I’m sorry…” 

The man chuckles. “This is really cute. I think I can leave you alone now, this seems to be working exactly right.” He pats Steve’s thigh and stands and, on his way out, he kicks Tony’s knee, apparently just for fun. Tony grunts and tries to kick back, doesn’t hit and the man cackles. “Dinner will not be served anytime soon. Have a great day, gentlemen.” 

The door to the room falls shut with a sigh that implies some kind of sealing and for a moment, Steve thinks they might be in a giant freezer. 

He banishes the thought because he doesn’t want to think about it. _Cold cold cold_ his mind reminds him. _Ice-cold water so cold it burns, darkness, suffocation, panic, pain, anger, grief and the unrelenting, neverending cold._

With a sigh, Steve tries to get a little bit of comfort. His position is as awkward as Tony’s except for the noose, and he can see and speak. Which is, he realizes, a very interesting decision on their captor’s side. Why is Tony gagged? 

“So.” He finally says when he’d taken in the room in its utter boring complexity. Four walls, two of which are occupied, two men, chains and holes and nothing else, not even a window. The freezer-idea is starting to take form but nope. Not today. “Come here often?”

Stark snorts and grunts and, from what Steve can ascertain, tests his own restraints.

“Yeah, me neither. Sorry about that whole choking thing. Won’t happen again.”

Tony moves his head from side to side, probably trying to see if he can dislodge the rope. Of course he could just as well be trying to scratch his chin on his shoulder. Just because Steve would test the rope doesn’t mean Tony will do the same. 

He’s come to realize that the two of them have very different ways of seeing the world. 

“Any idea who that guy is?” Steve asks while he scans the ceiling. Somewhere above them, behind the walls, the rope or chains that are connected to his arms run along a set of pulleys and go down on Tony’s side to connect with the rope. 

When no reaction follows on his question, Steve looks back to Tony. Who’s… well. Steve can’t be _sure_ but it’s a fairly good guess, based on the utter stillness and the way Tony’s view seems to be focused on Steve’s position, that Stark is glaring at him. What had he said?

Ah, right. “Sorry. Yeah, can’t answer, I get it.” Incredible, how easily the human mind will conjure up the expected facial expressions even if there’s no evidence of it being true. And yet, Steve is very certain that Tony is rolling his eyes. 

He grins. 

“So, for the time being, I’ll be the one talking. Let’s explain what I’m looking at.” He tells Tony what the room looks like and how the shackles are set up and that he doesn’t remember much since the fight and that he hadn’t even realized Tony had been shot down. “EMP, I guess? Although… Didn’t you fix that problem? Hey, what are you doing?” 

Tony is once more moving his legs, pulls them up underneath him into a cross-legged position and seems to wriggle and turn until he’s able to get upwards enough to lean to his right side. Steve can’t quite see what he’s doing but a few minutes later, the gag is spit out and the blindfold falls to the floor. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, this is ridiculous,” he gripes and stretches his jaw. “Are we the only ones here?” 

Oh. That’s actually a good question, one Steve hadn’t even thought about. They must be, right? Nobody else was mentioned. “I… I don’t know,” he admits. “To my defence, I was unconscious.” 

This time, he can clearly see the stare. It’s not angry, though, more thoughtful and puzzled. “Really? How did that happen?”

He grimaces and explains about the net. Even after all those years of knowing Tony, it’s still slightly unsettling how his mind works and picks up on things and Steve has the feeling that Stark has already designed a similar thing in his head while also getting rid of all the flaws. 

“Interesting,” is all he says, though. “You know we’re in a fridge, right?” 

Now it’s time for Steve to grimace. “I have been hoping that I’m wrong about that,” he admits. Tony gives him a sympathetic smile and one day, Steve might even be able to tell him how much he appreciates it. “So. How did they get you?”

Tony sighs and lets his head fall against the wall. “I think they wanted Sam,” he admits. “I just got in the way. I don’t know what they used, to be honest. Wish I knew – it had a pretty interesting effect on my suit.” 

“Isn’t… didn’t you put nanites or what it is into your blood?” Steve thinks he’d heard Rhodes complain about that somewhere in the compound. He hopes it hadn’t been a secret, but Tony just nods. 

“Yupp.” There’s that familiar protective smugness that tells Steve that while Tony is acting blasé, he’s actually really proud of that invention. “But it’s only the counter-agent to the nano-technology of the suit and the reactor. It doesn’t do much on its own.” Something must have passed on Steve’s face because Tony looks at him and explains: “Like… like Velcro. The fluffy side is the suit and the little hooks are inside me. They react to the tech on the outside of my skin, like iron particles on a table when you go under it with a magnet.” 

That’s…. actually really interesting. For a second, he wishes he could have had this kind of conversation earlier, in a more civil setting but then he remembers that even after being able to trick Thanos with some clever little time-travelling, things are still tense between him and Tony. 

They work fine together in the field, but outside of ‘work’, they both avoid each other’s company. 

He wishes it were different but it’s not, and he’s not ignorant enough to pin the blame entirely on Stark. They’re both stubborn and whenever he talks himself up enough for a conversation, maybe to mend some of the chasm he feels between them, Steve gets so tense that he can feel his teeth gnaw against each other. It’s not exactly _anger_ anymore, but he’d met Natasha in the corridor once and she’d whistled in appreciation and asked who had pissed into his cornflakes and if he was on his way to beat them up. 

There’d been a … a certain glint in her eyes and her off-hand remark had sounded very deliberate and looking back, Steven can now believe that it had been a friendly warning that whatever his intentions, it wouldn’t be received well.

He’d dropped it from then on, and things continue to be tense. “So…. Do they have the reactor now?”

Tony glares. “They do, but it’s useless. I would have made a little bit more noise if they were now in possession of my multi-million-dollar tin-can, Captain,” he hisses. “It’ll go dark if not in my vicinity and it also has a recall-sensor. Once I’m out, it’ll be no time until I can get it back. Nobody but me can operate it. I’m not completely irresponsible.” 

Case in point? Innocent remarks being taken as insults and accusations. 

_But you did think they might have his suit, didn’t you?_ , a voice in his head nudges at Steve’s subconsciousness. _Was it really just an innocent remark?_. 

He gives a quick smile. “No, of course not. Sorry.” 

Tony shuts up and his eyes track along the walls and over the room and the floor and the ceiling and the door. Steve gives him time and starts to think about their team and how long it would take until someone came to get them. When something tickles his nose, he starts to reach for it reflexively until Tony curses. 

“Jesus, Cap, can’t you at least warn me?” Even when Steve let his hand go slack immediately, he can see that Tony has a bit of a hard time swallowing and cranes his neck to relieve the pain. He’s incredibly sorry and feels stupid. 

“Sorry.” 

“Right. You’re saying that a lot but I don’t think it means what you think it does. If you’re trying to kill me, at least do it for something worthwhile, like getting out of here. Not to pick your nose.”

“I was not picking my nose! Jeez, and I’m not … I wouldn’t want …That!. How can you even think that!” Steve stares because that _hurt_. When had he ever given the impression he’d be fine with Tony being _dead_?

“Right,” Tony grumbles against his chest, uttering something so low that even Steve’s super-hearing can’t pick it up. Then he sighs and pulls his knees up. “This sucks.”

“Yeah. Any idea how we get out?”

“I tried to get the rope off, but the ring is metal and spliced on, so no knot to untie. And it’s too wide; when there’s slack, it falls down behind my neck. If …” he thinks for a second and then moves once more into his cross-legged seat. “If I try again to reach with my hand, maybe I can get it off. It’ll pull on your wrists, though, so … relax?” He gives a quick grin and starts to lean towards his right arm and when the rope pulls taught, Steve presses his palms hard against the wall. There is a little bit of give in the noose, but it soon slips closed and Steve tries, he really does, to give him more but it’s no use. 

“Stop,” he says because while his wrists barely feel the strain yet, Tony’s neck doesn’t look so good with the rope cutting more and more into it. The ring through which the rope runs is so wide that there’s no resistance once there’s pull but on the other hand, once you give it slack, it’ll just fall back and widen on its own.

Stubborn as he is, Tony only lets it go when his breath isn’t even laboured anymore but practically a wheeze. With a rough growl, Stark drops back to his ass. There might be tears in the corner of his eyes and Steve pretends they aren’t there. The way Tony looked just now, he had reminded him of a fox in a trap, gnawing its paw off to get free. 

“I don’t think that’s the way to do it,” Steve says with his best reassuring voice, but it doesn’t land exactly how he wanted and he can see Tony bristle. 

“No shit, Sherlock. Come up with a better idea.” His voice is so raspy that Steve’s throat aches in sympathy. 

Still, for a bit, Steve copies Tony’s moves and pulls his legs underneath him. Other than Tony with the rope around his neck, he’s actually able to stand – hands awkwardly hanging from his sides in a weird angle. But the shackles aren’t tight and he can easily twist his wrists in them so he just stands upright to look if he can spot anything he couldn’t while sitting. 

There’s nothing, though. It’s still a room that is, upon closer inspection, indeed a freezer _cold cold cold cold – Bucky!_ and denying it won’t make a lick of difference. He can move between his arms but whenever he pulls even slightly, he sees the rope on Tony tighten even when there’s no complaint. 

Strange, how Tony never really complains about getting hurt, yet he can moan and gripe over a cold or a sore throat like a character in one of those stupid sitcoms. But Steve had seen him step out of the armour battered and bruised up with a manic grin on his face and a gleam in his eyes and walk stiffly around the Tower, and later the Compound, for days without even making any sound of woe. 

Tony Stark is a very strange man.

“So, come to any conclusion?” that strange man asks, slightly interested but mostly – probably – resigned. “Apart from the obvious one that they like you better, since you can do all that without playing a game of Twister with your neck.”

“No,” Steve admits. “And it’s not because they like me better. The shackles are this way because I can’t break them or widen them just by tensing up my muscles. So… why do they have us here? Did you recognize the man?” 

“Since I didn’t get a look at him, I can’t say that I have. Why, does he look like I’d keep acquaintance with him?” Tony shoots back defensively and while there was definitely no hidden meaning behind the question this time, Steve lets it go. 

“But he was extra-unfriendly to you. Kicked your leg and kept you gagged and blindfolded. He didn’t bother with me.”

“Really? Well, the gag might be my fault.” He grins in a vicious, satisfied way and Steve wishes he’d been there to witness the incredible tongue-lashing Tony must have doled out. Now, Tony is thinking about Steve’s words. He can tell because his forehead has formed those thought-wrinkles and there’s that distant, far-away look in his eyes that sometimes remind Steve of veterans having dissociative moments. “Can you describe him?”

Steve does, to the best of his abilities, which is actually a lot since, you know… super-memory and drawing-skills. He knew it would come in handy one day. 

Still, Tony shakes his head after a bit more thinking. “Doesn’t ring a bell. But to be honest, I meet so many people and about half of them tend to be unhappy with me; he could be anyone.”

That gets a snort from Steve. “You do have a bit of a knack of pissing people off,” he allows and is awarded by a lightning-quick smile. It’s astounding how much it warms his heart and is testament to the unholy amount of tension in the Compound that he can’t recall having seen Tony smile at him in… Jeez. He wouldn’t even be able to set a date. 

A fist clenches in Steve’s chest. Once upon a time, things had been easier. Sure, he’d been exasperated by Tony’s insistence to push-pull people towards-away from him, especially in Steve’s case, but it _had_ been better in the early days. And it wasn’t just Siberia that broke things but it certainly slammed a door shut that had already been barely ajar since Sokovia. 

Sighing, he slides back down, muttering under his breath. “This is a mess.”

Tony must have heard him, though, because he slumps as well and takes a deep breath. They sit in silence and Steve tries to wager with himself who of their friends would be the one to get them.


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s a really impressive system, actually,” Tony says. Apparently, twenty minutes is the limit of silence he can tolerate. When Steve looks up from his daydreaming, he can’t help notice that Stark looks a bit less put-together than before and takes in his appearance as a whole.

He’s in a shirt and dirty jeans, covered in engine-grease and sweat. His hair is a mess, but that’s not really unusual after coming out of the armour. The call must have gotten him from his workshop and Steve briefly wonders what he’d been building. He stops himself when he realizes that he’s concerned about another ULTRON and how unfair that is but can’t really silence his doubts. It’s not like Tony had done anything as dangerous as ULTRON ever since, but the last time Tony had acted out of guilt over a debacle, they were suddenly faced with the Sokovia Accords so who knows what he was up to. But it _is_ not fair, he knows, so he squashes the doubt down. 

“What is?” 

“The pulley-system. It’s low-tech and terrible design, but it’s very efficient in a way few high-tech solutions would be. It’d probably work even better if you had Wilson here instead of me, but considering that you’re mostly a decent human being, it’s probably safe to say that they have managed to restrain Captain America sufficiently,” Tony says, rather dismissively as if that sentence was in the realm of normal things to say.

“Oh, wow. So now I’m a decent human being?” Steve smiles to take the sting out of his voice. “That’s high praise, coming from you.” Yeah… Would have worked better without the last sentence, he has to admit to himself. 

Tony rolls his eyes heavenwards. Ceilingwards. “I said ‘mostly’, didn’t I?” he shoots back. 

It does hurt, a little. Even though he asked for it. “So you trust me to not just break your neck, got it.”

“Oh, I don’t _trust_ you as far as I can lift you without a suit, make no mistake.” Stark isn’t looking at him now, instead glaring at the wall slightly left of Steve’s head. “But you would need a very, very high incentive to behead me because, let’s be honest, that would happen if you used everything you have to break out of these chains.” It’s probably accurate, but Steve shudders at the idea. He’d _never_! “And ‘getting out of this uncomfortable freezer’ is not high stakes enough.” Tony’s silent for a moment before he purses his lips once more. “Short of the whole universe on the line, I doubt you’d even behead Thanos if he were here instead. That’s what I mean with ‘decent human being’. You’re unutterably _decent_.” He looks up quickly. “That’s not a bad thing. Personal grievances aside, I never doubted your intentions. Just … have a bit of a problem with the actions that follow.”

Since they’re apparently having _this_ conversation now, Steve leans back to take a deep breath. It takes a lot to keep his body from crossing his arms in front of his chest because it _hurts_. Hearing Tony so casually say that he doesn’t trust him further than what should be normal human character is painful, even though he can’t honestly say it comes as a surprise. “Look,” he starts, then stops again. Thinks. Starts anew. “We disagree about the Accords. I’ve come to the conclusion that we should have talked about it with less… passion,” he opts for, although ‘fire’ and ‘venom’ had been on the tip of his tongue. From the wry grin on the face opposite him, he guesses Tony got it anyway. “But you can’t honestly say that they were _good_. Come on… I know you wanted to have some oversight, but giving a bunch of politicians complete power over us cannot be the right thing! And look what happened – they just put them all in a fucking cell on the ocean and would have let them rot!” 

_You put them there_ he doesn’t say. _You would have let them rot_. 

Tony leans back and takes a deep breath. And another. “Not getting into that now. But…Our hands are not safe, Steve.” If he’d shouted, Steve would have felt the urge to yell back. But it’s a quiet, kind sentence and Tony seems to want him to listen, so Steve tries to keep his anger on the low. When no reaction comes from him, Stark continues. “You said that our hands are the safest, and no politician and no UN would ever be morally sound enough to have a say over our decisions, but Steve, _our hands are not safe!_ And before you say it, yes – least of all mine! But I can’t exclude you because while I never doubt that your heart is in the right place, you’re just a man and just as easily swayed by personal emotions as I am. As everyone is. You basically went to _war_ with other nations to save your friend Barnes, and I get it. I do. Believe me. I would turn the world inside-out if it were Rhodey in Barnes place and I’m not even able to say what I would do for Pep or Peter. I’d lay Earth in ashes and burn the remains if that’s what it would take to save them. And here’s the difference to ordinary people, Steve: It’s not just theory, not empty words. We both, and many of our friends, are actually able to do so.”

Steve had bitten his tongue at the start of the rant but by the end, when Tony is looking at him more imploringly than angry, he starts to think the words through. Because angry as it makes him, Tony does have a point. 

“You can level an airport,” Tony continues. “Wanda could flatten a city. I can blow up a whole block with the armour alone, and we both know what happened when I got my brain involved.” ULTRON. He means ULTRON. “I _know_ I’m not safe.” 

He conveniently left out how each of them helped save the Earth with exactly that power. “So you wanted to have someone hold your reins.” It sounds overly simplistic, but that’s what Steve’s getting from this.

“Yes.”

“Why Ross, though? You know he’s a snake. You know what was in those Accords! You know they would hold any of us without trial and –“ Tony interrupts with a scoff and then takes a deep breath and waves him to continue. After a bit of mental re-arrangement, Steve does. “I’ve seen where registration and trial-less imprisonment lead and where it ends. It can’t be the solution just because you lack the competence to rein in your own brain.”

It was a shot and a deliberate one as that. Tony had given him the ammunition and Steve had used it, and he’s strangely glad and at the same time saddened that he managed to land a blow. 

They sit in silence for a bit longer. At one point, Tony nods off – easy for him, since he doesn’t have to force his hands to remain against the wall by himself and can, instead, just sag down a little. 

Guiltily, Steve remembers the noose when Tony jerks awake suddenly and, slightly panicky, tries to stand up and nearly chokes himself out. “Hey, stop. Tony. Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

It doesn’t take long, luckily, for Stark to calm back down. He takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the wall until he has enough of his wits together to look back at Steve. “Still here, huh?”

A chuckle rises in his chest and he lets it out. No use sitting here being angry at each other. That won’t solve any problem. “Yeah, still here.” 

Tony groans and clears his throat. “Look, I thought about it some more. It’s improbable that you can get out of the chains in a forward-momentum without killing me, but can you, I don’t know, go backwards? Punch into the walls backwards?” he makes the appropriate motion himself, on his side, and it doesn’t take Steve long to understand what he is talking about.

He tries that for a bit but the angle is wrong and he can’t get the arm to swing back – forth – far enough to get power behind the punch. As it is, it’s not even a crack in the tile and he did hear Tony’s hitched breath across the room when he tried it with a bit more force.

He won’t try it again. 

“Interesting,” Tony mutters when Steve slides back onto his bum. Then: “Auschwitz, right?”

Holy… What? “What?” 

“Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Majdanek… you know. Concentration Camps. Or, closer to home, Japanese detention camps in the US. Only of course not comparable in direct comparison.” Steve blinks. He’s a bit lost, trying to see where Tony’s thought-process was able to find similarities between their situation and freaking _Concentration Camps_ but luckily, Tony goes on. “That’s what you mean, right? With Ross and the Accords being a bad idea.” 

Oh. Right. Steve nods, glad for the explanation before he had to ask and possibly make a fool out of himself. He hates when that happens, always feels like it’s a personal failure. It might be why he’s always so darn defensive when it comes to arguing with Tony, always high-strung to pay attention and to not let Stark run mental circles around him. 

Possibly, it might also explain why they butt heads so often, even during better times. 

“Right. Okay, I get that.” Tony isn’t looking at him, probably still calculating ways to disrupt the pulley-system. “I do, alright? I’m not completely ignorant. But the Accords…. They are a UN _agreement_. Not law, and while there are guidelines about the actions that should be taken if a superhero-squad barges into another country, it’s still on the individual _countries_ to make it into law. And the Accords, even the old ones, don’t actually say anything about waiving basic human rights. That was all US-invented, and I’m absolutely certain most of the nations that ratified the Accords would be appalled. I know for a fact that Germany had already been strongly hinting that it would be a problem. I know the German Ambassador was in the White House. And on our soil, appeals to the Supreme Court had already been entered and there is no way, _no way_ that it is compliant to our Constitution.”

“I know.” Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not ignorant, either, Tony. But for the time being, they were law and it _did_ end with our friends-“ Tony scoffs and rolls his eyes but otherwise doesn’t interrupt. It derails Steve slightly, makes him think back to the Compound and the tension between Tony, Wanda and particularly Clint whenever he comes by. It’s sad, how everything has ended, especially with Barton. Wanda and Stark never really liked each other, were barely tolerating the other’s presence, but Clint and Tony had been pretty easy-going. Still, that couldn’t be solved here in the freezer and it wasn’t even the point! “Our _team_ on the bottom of the ocean! How long would it have taken until the Supreme Court had ruled it unconstitutional?”

“Not that long, actually. But water under the bridge, it’s done. Happened. We can only go from here. And my stance about it remains that we _need_ the Accords. Better – yes. But we still need them and we need to abide by their rules.” 

Steve thinks about it but even with all the good points, he’s still not entirely convinced. There’s _government_ and politics and in his experience, that usually fucks up any good intentions. There’s too many examples of that throughout history, and even when it’s working, it’s still incredibly _slow_. “Maybe. But we would still be severely hindered doing our jobs if we had to go through all those hoops until we could act. Catching someone from HYDRA or whatever else was put on the plate would be near impossible with all that bureaucracy behind it.”

“Possibly, but what were we doing before? As much as I hate beating a dead horse before acting, I do actually think that we need a bit more bureaucracy before we invade a country and fight a war on their soil.”

Steve bites back his anger because it won’t help. It never helps with Tony but he can’t quite keep himself from flying off the handle when it comes to arguing with Stark, never could. Tony’s too much of a free agent, which is ridiculous in this situation where he’s prepared to give up his – and other’s – freedom to a set of politicians. “We’re not an army, Tony,” is what he says. “We’re not soldiers, we’re … more like a police-force.”

Stark snorts. “Right. You and me alone could do the damage of a whole battalion of troops, Cap, even without adding Red Velvet.” He means Wanda. Tony is still bitter about her mind-tricking them and Steve can at least understand it even if he doesn’t agree. Or maybe he’s angry that she had such a rapport with Vision, who is, admittedly, something close to Tony’s … offspring? “ _With_ her?” Tony shakes his head. “Can you really not see how the countries we’re in might be scared of us? We didn’t mean to hurt anyone and we didn’t mean to cause so much damage – it happens. But we can’t just go somewhere and blow up a whole block without justification and wave it away as collateral damage! People should be prepared, evacuation-teams ready, hospitals and schools clearly marked so _we_ wouldn’t accidentally throw a Hulk into it! We _need_ oversight, Captain, because _we are not safe_!” 

It’s an exaggeration, Steve knows. Well… in case of Bruce, Tony’s not much wrong, and considering the fire-power of Tony’s suits it’s… well, there is a bit of truth in the statement. But while Wanda is incredibly powerful, she wouldn’t just level… okay, she did. But that was an accident, and anyway, _Steve_ never did so much damage that it would equal a battalion. 

_Just because you never did doesn’t mean you can’t,_ a little voice that sounds like Sam whispers in his mind. He shushes it but can’t quite ignore the fact that Tony… has a point. Even if under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t do anything like that, he can’t help but think about Bucky. They have closely similar super-strengths and someone was able to brain-wash Bucky into a killing-machine. Theoretically, that could happen to any of them. 

It had happened to Bruce. Wanda had demonstrated. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Steve thinks a bad word. He's learning ;-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the tag "unreliable narrator" because throughout this story, we only see Steve's POV. Please be aware that I'm not Steve and that Steve isn't omniscient ;-)

“Alright,” Steve concedes after that little revelation because it pains him but he’s not above giving people their due. “I’ll give you that. But we need to be flexible. If we bind ourselves to the long-time talks of politicians, we can’t do our job! We are good at what we do, and we’re the good guys! We know what’s right and wrong, and we shouldn’t have to wait until a large committee sees it as well or, worse, doesn’t see it.”

Tony groans and leans back. He wriggles about a little and tries to pull his legs under him to sit cross-legged but it doesn’t seem to bring relief. _He’s nearly fifty_ , Steve realizes. It’s not that he is rusty or unfit – quite the opposite, to be fair – but he’s still not as flexible as he used to be and the number of knocks and hits he’d taken in the course of his Iron Man missions will have left their mark. 

Steve isn’t stupid, so he won’t mention it and he ignores it and twists his wrist in a way to feel the hole that holds the chains. Maybe he can widen it with his fingers to the point where he could reach inside and disable the pulleys. 

“It’s the whole ‘the safest hands are our own’-bullshit again, huh? You really believe that? Even when you just said that I have a point with us being _not_ safe?” 

With a groan of his own, Steve closes his eyes and then forces them open again. Tony’s got that stubborn clench in his jaw that makes Steve’s skin bristle and his hair stand up on end. It feels like an attack. Tony’s sharp tongue and impressive brain have a way to intimidate Steve that outdoes pretty much any threat he’d yet encountered. Tony’s not just smart or a genius. Bruce is that, too, and many people in his life are highly intelligent. But Tony is _sharp_ and edgy where Bruce is blunt and careful, struts where Bruce sneaks, and pridefully shows everyone that he’s so much smarter than a room full of experts. 

It always reminds Steve of that one boy, Thomas, back in his childhood. Thomas had been very smart and knowledgeable and he’d loved to take people down a peg and snicker at them when he’d shown them his superiority. And no, Tony’s not the same. He never shows off to hurt people or put them down unless they were being assholes first. Tony isn’t a bully, but the helpless feeling Steve gets in these kinds of arguments is _the same_. He can’t help it, or he can but it’s hard work and makes him slower in his responses. If he does answer quickly, it’s eight times out of ten that it comes out as an insult or snappish.

The best thing about the situation they’re in now is that neither of them can stomp out, that they can’t really use their bodies to show contempt or defensiveness or aggression, and maybe it isn’t the worst idea to finally get the air cleaned about those stupid papers. 

So he takes his time and doesn’t rise to the bait. “I still believe we’re better judges than 117 officials, yes. We know our strengths and out weaknesses and we know where our morals are. Basically. We don’t know that about those people in government! If we bow to them, we declare our own judgement faulty. But we know each other and we can see if something is wrong. If someone were to brain-wash one of us, the others would be able to stop them.” 

Here, Tony actually chuckles mirthlessly, and it takes Steve a _lot_ of restraint to not give a little jack to the shackles and make him stop. He’s not that kind of person, though. He isn’t and he hates that he even consciously thought about it. “What,” he snarls back instead. “You don’t agree?”

Stark’s eyes are hard to read from across the room, but the way they fix on him is certainly not ‘fond’ or ‘friendly’. “No, Steve. No, I really don’t. The idea that ‘we know each other’ is laughable! Did you forget everything that happened? How much do you know about Natasha, huh? Did you know anything about Wanda before she came to be part of the Avengers? How long did _we_ know each other before Fury decided we should be a team? And about us stopping each other if we get brain-washed – have you forgotten about Leipzig?” 

“You came to _arrest us_!” Steve shouts, truly angry now. “You came with all of them to put us behind bars, to put us in _prison_ and we weren’t brain-washed! We simply disagreed!” 

“No you didn’t!” Tony shouts back. “You didn’t ‘simply disagree’, Steve! You injured police and security in Germany and if we hadn’t come to get you, the German government would have sent people with rifles and guns and maybe even bigger weapons to get you! People would have been injured, maybe even died! And maybe you weren’t brain-washed, but that isn’t the great defence you think it is, Rogers. You were out to save your friend, and I get it, I _get_ it! But there are reasons police isn’t allowed to investigate crimes their friends or family are involved in, as well as there are reasons doctors shouldn’t operate on their loved ones and also reasons why there is a clear line of command in the military because, Captain, _we are human_! We act human, we have human emotions and they drive and rule our actions, and the more powerful we are, the more dangerous it can get! How often have we butted heads?” Steve wants to reply but Tony waves it away, as much as he can with his hands above his shoulders “Doesn’t matter – too often! And how often do you think have we benefitted from both of us stepping away from the situation and cool down? Remember what happened in that bunker? We nearly killed each other!”

Steve sniffs. “You tried to kill my best friend.”

“ _And I just watched my parents get brutally murdered!_ ” Tony yells and he tries to move towards Steve but the chains and rope keep him back. He’s frustrated enough to wriggle more but it just gets worse and after a few seconds, Tony slumps back into his position and glares. When Steve tries to answer, Tony just cuts him off with a jerk of his hands. “Don’t talk to me right now,” he growls. 

And while he would love nothing more than to shout back, Steve really doesn’t know what he could say and he’s not proud of that day, of his actions that followed. 

So he says nothing and feels pretty shitty.

o.O.o.O.o 

It might have been another fifteen minutes until Steve feels it’s alright to carefully breach the subject again. “Are you saying that with our … enhancements, we are too dangerous to run around free in case we get angry?”

With his eyes still closed, Tony sighs and sounds rather resigned when he responds. “No. What I mean is that in situations like those, we act as humans. We are all human, we can’t help it and Zemo was smart enough to use it against us. When I was … when I was in Afghanistan, Rhodey bent I don’t know how many rules to keep searching for me.” He swallows. “It nearly cost him his position. He assures me now and then that it was worth it, and I’ll forever be grateful and I owe him so much more than I can ever repay. He never broke the rules, though. It wouldn’t have done him any good if he did, since he’s not a rich playboy who could fund his own search-party, so he needed the military to assist, but … Even though the outcome in this case was good, he was still emotionally compromised. And so were you in Germany, and so was I in that bunker in Russia.” He shudders. “And so was also you in that bunker in Russia. And you didn’t just run off on your own when it came to Barnes and the Winter Soldiers – you dragged half of the team along! And I understand that it was to fight Winter Soldiers, I do so _now_ but back then? You acted as the leader and you pulled them along because you,” he used air-quotes “’knew best’ instead of talking to everyone. There was no guideline, no chain of command – you thought that that’s the way and you acted. And not knowing what was behind your actions, _I_ re-acted and made everything worse. I’m not even saying you were wrong.” That comes as a surprise, but before Steve can reply, Tony continues. “I’m not. Given the facts, it was an understandable decision. Not perfect, not really _right_ but… not horrible. Except _nobody knew_ , and why? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Steve scoffs at the accusation. “As if you have a leg to stand on about talking to each other. You practically threw those Accords into my lap without any kind of explanation or discussion. Held out a pen and said ‘sign’ and expected me to just waive away my rights! And then you get mad at me for deciding differently!” He swallows a bit of the anger back down, determined to keep a clear head. Especially after being accused of getting easily emotionally compromised. “We had just yelled at each other. And with the addendum to give genetic material to the authorities … You left the impression that you were in favour of locking people away that are not-quite-just-human. And since… you’re not ‘enhanced’ in the classical sense…”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Wow… That’s what you think? Well – good thing you’re still decent, or I’d deserve to be headless,” he snarls. Steve would like to take it back because it isn’t really what he thinks but at the time, it did play in the back of his mind. And … well, Tony _had_ asked. That was the answer. 

One of them.

He rolls his eyes. “Well, that’s it. We had a fight and I couldn’t waste time on making up. It was too urgent.”

With a grim gleam to his eyes, Tony throws him a pistol-finger. With his hands tied, it just looks stupid. “Exactly. We were acting like children instead of being professionals. I...” he glares at Steve and then at his shoes, “I tend to forget every lesson when it comes to the whole Avenger-thing. Every sense of diplomacy flies right out the window.” He looks up again. “And don’t tell me you’re that different.”

Steve licks his lips, noticing in a distant way how thirsty he’s becoming. The talking doesn’t help, and since he’s got the serum working for him, he’s pretty sure Tony’s worse off. Still, they can’t really do anything about it and telling Tony Stark to shut up and preserve energy is the worst thing to do to make him stop talking. Even if it’s in his best interest, Tony will not shut up. Not on Steve’s request, anyway. 

He doesn’t answer right away. Steve doesn’t think he’s truly that unprofessional. Has he made mistakes? Sure! Did he go about things in a way that ended up making it worse? Yes, one could make that argument and be not wrong. Does he get ‘emotionally compromised’? When it comes to Bucky – yes. When it comes to inter-team-relations, he thinks that it isn’t true. Sure, Tony and he butt heads but in general, on the majority of issues, they managed to work it out. 

It is true, though, that there’s no chain of command in their team. Nobody had put a vote in or promoted Steve to team-leader – it had just somehow happened that everyone fell in behind him. Except Tony – he’d always refused to dance to any tune but his own. Some days, when everything gets really heavy and the burden of command weighs him down, Steve wishes he could be that free; that he could just give it to someone else, let someone else handle everything. On those days, he thinks that maybe he’s not actually _good_ at this shit. Why is it him anyway? Rhodes is a Colonel and still everyone kinda agreed that _Steve_ is the one to call the shots?

Okay, not that War Machine gets involved in many skirmishes with the Avengers. Not in the beginning, before the Military put him on medical leave. He’s still more the back-up guy for heavy hitting, and Steve suddenly can’t remember if the two of them had ever had a longer conversation with each other that didn’t include a movie or the weather. Certainly not after Leipzig, Steve knows _that_. And it’s not that he’s avoiding Rhodes out of some sense of guilt, it’s _not_ except that maybe it is a little bit. A fraction. Nano-particle-sized guilt. Maybe. 

It’s not his fault, right? Steve didn’t make Rhodes come to Leipzig, he didn’t drag him there and he certainly didn’t shoot him down. He wasn’t even present anymore when it happened!

 _But he wouldn’t have been there if you hadn’t been there and messed with the police, got people hurt,_ the insistent little voice berates him. _So whose fault is it that the airport got destroyed?_

“Zemo’s,” he growls under his breath. It’s a convenient villain for this situation and it’s also true. He could argue with himself over and over and the domino of guilt wouldn’t end. If one got to Zemo, one would get to ULTRON and if one got there, it would be easy but not entirely fair to lay the ultimate blame on Tony’s feet. Because yes, ULTRON was a massive disaster and a huge mistake on Stark’s side, but there’s blame to go around even then. Wanda had her part to play, and with that, again and always, HYDRA. 

And round and round the carousel goes and nothing will ever end except if they stop looking for the _ultimate_ blame and go small. Who destroyed what, who killed whom, what parts can any of their members claim responsibility for? 

With a sharp intake of breath, Steve realizes that maybe that is part of the problem here. _”There needs to be accountability,”_ T’Chaka had said, and Tony had said it, too. He remembers the protests for police-accountability a few years back, how people demanded that the police in the US needed a system to take bad apples to task if they broke the laws and abused their power. There’d been fatal shootings of publicized and the world had gotten to actually _see_ the cops shooting in situations where it wasn’t necessary to use fatal force. 

Steve remembers how outraged he’d been when he’d seen the videos. How he’d stood with the protesters and demanded accountability.

How can he be pro-accountability in one case and against it in the other? Is he really that egoistical that he thinks everyone needs rules except him?


	4. Chapter 4

The thoughts sit in his gut like a greasy piece of days-old cold pizza, and Steve doesn’t quite know how to go from there. “Did you come up with a genius solution to the predicament here?” he asks instead of voicing his sudden insight. He will, but it needs some further thought and a bit of deep soul-searching. 

Wearily, Tony looks up from the doze he’d fallen into. “You mean apart from you digging through the tiles with your fingernails?” So he’d noticed that that’s what Steve had been doing for the last half hour. Good. At least he’s paying attention even if he looks like crap, hair in even more disarray and rumpled clothes and a worn, tired gleam to his eyes. He looks tired, Steve thinks, and wonders how long Tony had been awake the night before their operation. But his voice and mind are sharp as ever. “Nope. How about you just turn around and dig forward?” Stark suggests and smacks his lips. He’s probably getting rather thirsty. 

Steve chuckles sadly and continues digging backwards. His nail-bed is bruised and the skin is tender and cut in some places, but there’s nothing else to do and it doesn’t seem as if anyone will get them anytime soon. 

“I hate to say it, but I think you’re right,” he finally admits, maybe a silent hour later. “We do need some kind of oversight. Something like SHIELD but without the racist, fascist megalomaniac background. But something that gives directions. We’re… especially you and me, we’re not the type to sit still if we can do something, and as we can see in our recent past, we really tend to make a mess.” He looks up, right into Tony’s face and there is no triumph behind the dark eyes, no jubilation about Steve admitting what Tony’s been saying for some time now. Simply a weary smile and a small nod. 

And all of a sudden, Steve _gets_ it. Gets what this whole thing has been about. It wasn’t about Steve not signing, or about breaking up the team – which can be laid on both their feet, he still thinks, but he can’t withdraw his own fault so it might equal out. It wasn’t about not signing. It was just about _understanding_ and by withholding information for his actions, withholding the information about the Winter Soldier program and about Bucky and about the pretended plans, he’d made it impossible for Tony to see his side. And Steve had been too worried at the time about his best friend to be able to see Tony’s side of things. 

But whatever reasons Tony had for not talking to him about the Accords until he came in with Ross on his toes, they certainly didn’t help the situation. That was a cheap shot, and Steve is still not quite over it but now, he’d really liked to know _why_. Because it was obvious Tony despised and despises Ross, so how did that smarmy asshole come into the mix? 

Maybe he’ll get his answer in the not-so-distant future. 

He lets out the small, sarcastic laugh that sits bitingly in his chest. “Someone should have tied the both of us down a while ago, right?” he smirks sadly and Tony raises his eyebrows and tugs on his chains and he doesn’t look like he agrees but he still gives a weary grin. “I get what you mean about oversight. But you know the Accords aren’t the right tool. Not as they were back then. Tell me you see that, too.” 

Tony sighs. “At the time, I thought they were. It’s like… like when you get handed a beautiful piece of tech and it’s amazing and shiny and smart and creative. And then, given a bit of time with it, the flaws start to get on your nerves. When Ross came to me, I saw him as the solution to problems that _we_ create. I admit, if Bruce had been anywhere close, I’d have given it way more thought. But he wasn’t and Ross was appointed by the government, and people voted for that government so it was kind of his job to come up with the papers. I thought it would be fine, you know. Since he had official standing and wasn’t some power-mad general anymore.” He scoffs. “Ironic, considering how much fucked-up shit our ‘official’ government has caused already. Segregation, ‘The War on Drugs’, ‘The War on Terror’, privatizing prisons, drilling for oil in natural heritage areas, running pipelines through Reservations… The fuck-ups are nearly limitless. I tend to forget stuff like that sometimes, and every time I do, I wonder _how_! My company used to be neck-deep into some of their dealings and how they operated, and sure, most of it was Obie – Stane – but he did teach me stuff.” He scoffs. “Maybe I ran the circuit of ass-kissing politicians too long. I’ve been spoiled by people wanting things from me, selling their souls and their first-born to my company and I forgot to be cautious about where I step.” After a pause, quietly: “Maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention in the first place, too eager to find absolution.”

There’s really not much Steve can say to that, and they sit in silence once more until it eats at him and he twists around so his arms cross but he can kneel and dig the wall with his fingertips. The hole has gotten bigger. Not by much, but it’s noticeable and it gives Steve the first inkling of hope. “So,” he starts when he surreptitiously glances over his shoulder and sees Tony swallowing hard and trying to wet his lips. “I guess Pepper didn’t have a look over that paper, huh?”

Tony scoffs. “Naw. She was busy, we were having a break and it was … a bit urgent, with Ross on my doorstep. I didn’t want to bother her. Goes to show how wise it was for me to give her my company. I’d have probably ruined it by now otherwise.” 

Steve smiles, picturing Pepper Po- no, Pepper Stark now – with her no-nonsense-face, arms crossed in front of her. She probably would have eaten Ross alive. With silver-cutlery. “I’m happy for both of you that you stuck it out together. She…” how to say ‘she’s good for you’ without sounding patronizing? “She’s an amazing woman. Person! An amazing person. I really admire her, you know?” Yeah, better just leave it out and go with what he actually _means_. “She reminds me of Peggy sometimes. Same steel in her veins, except maybe not as dangerous with a gun.” 

Tony laughs at that. “Actually, of the two of us, Pep can hit the target three out of four times and only misses the last one by a margin. And I’m shit with guns.”

“Really?” That makes Steve turn around. “That’s… How did I not know that?” So much about ‘knowing each other’… Great job, there. “I mean, I get that I’m not monitoring your life, but I never thought there’d be an issue with that.” Howard had been a good shot. Had he not taught Tony?

“Yeah. One would think differently, right? I mean, I’m really fucking good with the suit and the repulsors, so I should be great at shooting. But a gun in my hand is a different thing. Also, I once cut the tendon on my middle-finger, back in college. Never really bent right after that, and it probably effects my aim.” He shrugs, maybe a bit sheepishly for that shitty little excuse. Steve had known people with missing fingers who were still great shots. “But probably the main reason is that I don’t like guns.”

That makes Steve jostle the pulley slightly in surprise, with barely noticeable effects on the choke-rope. Tony doesn’t even glare. “I… You … I’m not being an asshole for finding that hilarious, am I?” 

Tony actually laughs but it’s dry and ends in a bit of a cough. Steve should really stop him from talking. He really should. 

“Naw. I admit it is weird. People would think a weapon’s manufacturer would love guns and be at least decent at firing them. But I never got the taste for them. I can design you one out of a broken-down tool-shed without a problem, make them efficient, accurate and even pretty. I like the _beauty_ of them.” Another shrug, carefully executed carelessness that implies that he actually doesn’t care when Steve knows, from Before, that it’s not true at all. “Guess I’ve always been more of a big-boom-person.” 

“I believe that, no problem.” Steve gives him a wry chuckle and, for good measure, adds: “I’m not fond of them, either.” He expects some flip about his time in the War. Which would be fair, though he really hates being reminded of that time all over. It’s done, it’s gone, he can’t go back and he shouldn’t want to go back, considering what an awful time it was. But secretly, every so often, he wishes he could return to the 40s and have things be as they were. 

Sometimes, maybe one or two days a year, not more, definitely not more, he finds himself in bed with the blanket over his head. Sleeping until mid-afternoon and pretending that it’s 1941 and he’s in his apartment and nothing worse than an asthma-attack is on the horizon. On those days, thinking hurts somewhere deep in his guts and he can’t do anything but _want want want_. Want peace, want freedom, want no responsibility, want his best friend back as he was, want him healthy and happy. 

Want Peggy.

Whenever those days strike, he struggles out of bed at around four pm as the latest, talks his limbs into obedience and walks out into the city, or the countryside, and forces himself to find the good things. Or at least things he can fix. What he’d accused Tony of, only seeing the big picture and losing sight on the individual problems is kind of what he falls guilty of himself, on those days.

Things seem so enormous, so unachievable then that all he can think about is wanting to be ignorant and blind. But it’s not the answer. Wishing to be unaware of the larger unfairness in the world is no solution, he knows that. What he can do, though, is concentrate on the small things. To _see_ the small things, the things he can fix, instead of seeing all the terrible things humans do to each other. 

He can be kind to a homeless person on the street but he can’t fix homelessness, nor the effects of uncontrolled capitalism. He can help a girl against her aggressive boyfriend but he can’t stop everyone who equals love with pain, and power with violence. There’s only so much he can do, even as Captain America. 

Steve wishes he could end racism, once and for all, against everyone in the whole world, but he can’t even stop White Supremacists in _his country_ from using his image to proclaim superiority over people with differently coloured skin. It’s so incredibly unfair, that last part especially, and that’s why it had stung so much to see Stark just ignoring the _small issues_ , the real people out there, the Buckys and the Peggys and the Maximoffs, in favour of the bigger good. 

What good would be left, after all, if nobody was there to benefit from some bigger good? 

“Yeah;” is all Tony says, though. Then: “you did notice that nobody’s come back in quite some time, yes?” He smacks his lips “Would have been nice to leave us some water.” As he looks at their bindings, he grimaces. “Nevermind.” 

Steve wishes he could do something to help, but apart from continuing the ‘digging’ he can do with his fingers, there’s nothing. He turns around because having his arms cross in front of his chest isn’t great but it gives him better leverage with his fingers and he also doesn’t have to watch Tony’s reactions whenever there’s a little bit of pull on the rope. It can’t be helped, and Stark had waved the concern away when it happened the first time. _’I can take a bit of that; I’m not made of sugar. It’s just uncomfortable. Go on.’_ So he does and concentrates on the task at hand. 

It’s… infuriatingly slow. At least he can do _something_ , even if it’s such a tiny thing that might not even help them before they get freed, but it’s lengths better than sitting still, not being able to do anything at all. It must be frustrating, Steve thinks and glances over his shoulder. 

Tony’s sitting with his head against the wall, face turned up and his eyes closed. He could be sleeping, but Steve doesn’t think he is. There’s a strain on his neck and every now and then, Stark swallows thickly. 

Maybe he’s trying to keep calm. Being tied up with nothing to do is probably not the best thing for him, Steve thinks and goes back to his work. Sitting still isn’t one of Tony’s best features on a good day – like this, it’s gotta be taxing. 

A small wave of triumph crashes over him as the hole suddenly widens to finger-width. After the initial break, the wall is actually pretty brittle and it seems possible that they’ll get out much sooner than Steve thought. He gives a tiny whoop, which makes Stark startle. “You’re not through, are you?” he asks, but doesn’t seem too disappointed about the comparatively small progress. “Good. Can you look inside?” 

“I can try, but it might choke you a little. Just giving you a heads-up,” Steve says before leaning over and peering into the tiny hole. He has to pull the right wrist out a bit so he has space for his head, but there’s no complaint from Tony even though he must feel the tugging. Disappointed, Steve twists back around and awkwardly wriggles and turns to sit again. “Nothing. It’s too dark.” 

Tony is swallowing hard and continuously but doesn’t say anything about it. “Okay. Once it gets wide enough, you need to be careful that you keep up the tension with your hand and don’t give in to the pull. There has to be a weight in there that keeps your rope taught but mine with enough slack, or I’d have been pretty blue in the face by now. So once the hole is big enough to fit your hand, it will get pulled in a bit and that counterweight might then put strain on my rope. I’d appreciate if that didn’t happen,” Tony smirks unhappily. “This really fucks up my plans for today,” he adds in a near-whisper. Steve wonders what those plans had been. Maybe dinner and a movie? He feels a little bad for Pepper then. It can’t be easy, being married to Tony. He is a good man, Steve knows, and even a blind man could see how much he loves her and adores her and would do anything for her. But he’s also _Tony Stark_ , the guy who abhors sitting still and being silent, who’s impulsive and too smart for his own good sometimes. 

And he’s Iron Man. 

Being married to a superhero must be exhausting, even for someone as impressive as Pepper. Steve feels a bit of a sting as he remembers pulling Clint back into the fold, away from his family. He hadn’t even thought about Laura then… Had she understood that Steve needed Clint to save the world, and by association, their family as well? Or was she upset that once more, she was the one to be left behind and tackle kids and farm alone. Did she fear that this would be the time her husband wouldn’t come back?

In hindsight, involving Clint hadn’t even been necessary. All it did was put him in danger, into prison and on Ross’ shit-list. Him and his family.

He doesn’t say anything about it, though. Steve’s been wrestling with those decisions for a long time and while he can see many things he should have handled differently, at the time everything he did seemed sound and logical. He has regrets. Of course he does. Plenty of them, to be fair, and one of the biggest ones is the fallout with Tony. 

Mostly because it’s the only one that’s still relevant now. 

“Yeah, I was all for having a barbecue tonight,” Steve admits. “Guess that’s out the window. What were your plans?”

Tony closes his eyes and frowns towards the ceiling, but before Steve can ask, he looks back towards him. “If my judgement of time is right – and let’s be honest, it probably is – I was supposed to give a speech to the EU-commission on Arc-reactor-technology and green energy. Pep wants to try brokering a deal with them to upgrade their old power-plants with Stark Tech. Damn,” he sniffs, “I was looking forward to that. They would have argued about the price, I would have threatened them with Pepper and we’d have come to a great understanding while eating _fantastic_ food. Let me tell you – nobody out-cooks the chef of the EU-Commission.” 

“Good to know.” In the off-chance he ever gets there, Steve thinks, and he feels his mood sinking even further. To distract himself, he starts digging again even though his fingertips are hurting terribly. 

He isn’t sure if he should feel bad about not being in most country’s good graces. On one hand – it’s never good to be on someone’s bad side and a whole _country_ is quite the achievement. On the other hand, he still thinks the Accords – as they had been at the time – were terrible and if being the ‘bad boy’ for some country in Europe or Asia was the price of sticking to this believes, that can’t be too bad. And it’s not like, for example, China is a good role-model when it comes to human rights, so he would have probably been on their bad side at one point in time or another anyway. He and all the Avengers have been pardoned and the US-Accords had been ripped and new ones were being developed. And if they’ll hold what they are promising so far, Steve will probably sign them. 

While things have turned out okay for the most part, there have been a lot of missteps. And yet…

“I don’t regret it,” he hears himself say and winces. He’s got a good idea of where this will lead but it’s too late now to take it back. Then again, they’re both here, both tied up and apart from yelling at each other, nothing terrible can happen. Steve shoots a quick glance over his shoulder to see how Tony takes his outburst, but he looks mostly puzzled. “Not signing the Accords,” he clarifies and turns back to the wall. “I don’t regret it.”

There’s silence, only the rustle of shifting clothes and a quiet clinking of chains. It stays that way for so long that Steve feels his nerves climbing up his throat until they sit right behind his teeth. 

When Tony speaks, it’s not what he was expecting. “I really need to piss.” 

Steve blinks, turns. And yes, Stark looks truly uncomfortable and pained, casting looks around probably to see how to relieve himself with the least amount of humiliation. It’s a long time until his own bladder will protest and Steve hopes they’re out by then. “Well, I won’t look, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He gives a smirk when Tony shoots him a murderous look. 

“Well, that’s great and all, Spangles, but there’s not much to see since _I can’t reach the buttons_ since I can’t stand because _I’ll choke of I do,_ ” he snarls. 

Cringing internally, Steve turns back to the wall and concentrates really hard on the faint smell of mortar so close to his nose. He also pretends that he doesn’t hear Tony’s low, muttered words that curse everyone, from Howard to Fury to people who captured them to Steve being the reason he is here. Considering the indignity of having to wet his pants and sit in them until they’re out or rescued, Steve thinks it’s justified. 

And he always likes learning new swear-words he’ll probably never use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please note that I'm not Steve. ;-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it's the weekend, here, have more

Another piece of wall breaks off and the hole has gotten a bit larger once more. He tries to look again, mostly because he wants to give Tony more time in relative privacy, but again there’s nothing to see. It’s a bit lighter than it was before but it’s still not enough to get a look at the pulleys or anything beyond the wall of the freezer. 

He hears a cough from the other side of their room and looks back over his shoulder, carefully-casually keeping his eyes on Stark’s face. He’s staring at Steve, and there’s something strange in it, a focus and anger that makes Steve twist and sit back down. Whatever it is, this needs to be done face to face. 

“Good,” is what Tony says. “That you don’t regret not signing,” he clarifies quickly, even though Steve had been pretty certain that he wasn’t talking about his wet pants. “It would really suck if all that _crap_ happened for nothing.”

Steve feels his teeth grind and he forces them to relax. “What do you mean?”

“If this crap-fest that led to our merry little band breaking up had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, that would suck _balls_ ”, and the added curse is a shot at Steve, judging from the challengingly raised chin and his glare. “So, I’m glad that at least you still believe in your cause.” 

“I do,” Steve throws the challenge back. “Do you?” 

“Yes. As we established before, if you remember. I do believe that, and,” he takes a deep breath, calms down a little, “it’s okay if we disagree. If you sign, you sign. If not – well, your choice. Since at least our own great country seems quite fond of you, you’ll be fine if you want to continue superheroing. Maybe they’ll finally start going at some homegrown terrorists for a change.” He chuckles, and it’s nearly genuine. “Would love to see those assholes be rounded up by Superhero Steve Rogers, ‘Captain America’. They’ll probably ask for autographs and selfies for their Instagram. So, you know… I don’t care.” He waves his hand, and it looks awkward and Steve can see the wrist is a little raw but it’s nothing he can fix anyway. “You do you.”

Steve is confused. He’d expected shouting, trying to show him the errors of his way. Maybe some threats, even, though that’s probably ridiculous. “Really? That’s it? ‘You do you’? and everything is fine? Why are we still fighting, then? Why’re you still so mad?”

And Tony stares at him and if he’d looked outraged, Steve would be fine with it. Angry? Sure, why not. Nothing unusual. Frustrated? Understandable. Maybe sad would make sense, too, but Tony looks _hurt_. Genuinely hurt, like someone shot him in the guts and the pain was just registering, slow realization and then the burning agony that would continue until rescue. Or death; whatever came first. And that’s terrible, because Steve… Steve can’t really grasp what that is all about but he’d do anything to take back what made Tony look at him like this. He might be angry and frustrated, but he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

Maybe some of his inner turmoil plays out on his face because Tony chuckles bitterly and shakes his head. “If you don’t know, it’s not worth explaining,” he says. “You probably wouldn’t get it anyway.” 

It feels like a door has been slammed into his face, and although Steve is still not quite sure what it was about, he feels ashamed and small. He hates the feeling and would usually dig until he at least understands, but there’s a very distinct ‘don’t even look at me’-vibe coming from Tony and so he obliges and turns back to the wall. 

The sting in his sinuses certainly doesn’t come from tears. It’s probably just the … dust, or something.

o.O.o.O.o 

By the time Tony makes another voluntary sound – and boy, Quiet Tony is truly unsettling – Steve has widened the hole to near fist-size. It’s going faster, now that he can put more than one finger to work and while the skin is torn and his fingertips feel like they’re constantly digging into needles, he won’t stop until they get out. It’s apparent that nobody is coming to get them anytime soon, and lack of water is a veritable problem.

He had peeked into the hole as soon as possible and it had shown him what Tony had described. Without even seeing it. Steve can’t help but be impressed. The chains he was shackled with ran along a guide roller from where it went downwards, the chain being exchanged into a sturdy rope about midway to the first guide. Steve couldn’t quite see everything because of the strange angle, but he’d noticed the pull on his wrist the whole time so he knew there was a counterweight somewhere that wasn’t Stark’s neck. 

Since the tension in the room is still so high it would be possible to use it as a blunt instrument, Steve hadn’t asked anything and hadn’t dared turn around, still bothered by the shame he feels whenever he even thinks about looking at Tony. He knows he messed up. In a big way. It doesn’t help if he apologizes because he doesn’t know what he did wrong, and an apology without knowing for what is worth nothing. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. 

“Before you put your hand through that,” Tony says now and his voice is rough and nearly emotionless, “I’d like to conduct an experiment.” 

Steve turns now because he has to, and is relieved and disturbed equally that outwardly, nothing has changed in Stark. _What should have happened, dumbass?_ the Sam-voice mocks him. _Should he have turned into a jackdaw all of a sudden? Some manly tears? What did you expect?_ Sam is kind of a prick, even if he’s not present. 

“Okay,” he answers because what else can he say. “What do we do?” 

Tony licks his lips but there doesn’t seem to be enough moisture to change anything for him. “If you move your hands forward, especially your right – can you feel the weight behind it even if I’m pressed right to the wall? Because if you can, it means there’s some spring or weight on the system somewhere and you holding the chain tight is actually keeping me from suffocation.” 

Steve nods. “Yeah, the weight is there. Do you need to test it anyway?” 

“Better do it. I don’t like untested theories. I also want to know how strong the tension will be.”

“Okay – so how do we do that?” 

Once more Tony stares at him like he’s stupid, and Steve _hates_ it. He’s not Stark-smart but he’s not _dumb_. “By you carefully pulling your arm forward and then letting it snap back. You keep your eyes on this rope,” he moves his chin against the sling around his neck, “and see how quickly it releases. On the speed with which the tension relieves, I can give a good estimate on how much is weighing the system. If it’s too much and you just open that hole and put your hand through it, the system will have a slack which will be taken up by the weight, which will fall downward.” He wriggles his eyebrows but there’s no real humour in it. “And chrr.” The imitation of choking, combined with stuck-out tongue and exaggeratedly clenched eyes is pretty terrifying. Not because Stark is such a great actor, no. But what Tony’s describing is exactly what Steve would have done without warning, what his instincts had been telling him to do. 

Go through the wall, release the tension and Stark will be able to remove the rope from his neck. Now that he knows it would have killed Tony to do so, Steve feels chills run up and down his spine. His tongue sticks to his palate but he manages to get it back to working. “Okay. Let’s see if you’re right. Ready?”

Tony moves around so he’s as close to the wall as he can be. The rope-sling is slack, nearly resting on his shoulder and Steve can see the red mark that decorates his skin already. Carefully and consciously, Steve pulls his arm downwards and it takes a bit until there’s a reaction to the rope, even though Steve can feel his wrist working against resistance. It’s already proof, he thinks, but Tony nods to him to keep going. When his wrist is maybe ten centimetres away from wall, the sling is taught against Stark and quickly, Steve lets his hand follow the pull and go back to its place. 

The sling slackens without delay. 

“Right,” Stark says, as if they hadn’t just played with his health. He’s probably used to it, but it’s really scary to Steve and he wishes to not repeat that. Ever. “Okay. Now…” He thinks, and underneath his closed lids, his eyes move rapidly back and forth. 

He looks like a computer in those movies, running code after code across a screen, too quick for anyone to follow. Once, back Before, Tony or maybe Bruce had explained that it’s not how things work, that code is too quick to even run over a screen – and it wouldn’t do so anyway. What would be the reason for it? 

But still, that’s what Tony looks like. While he processes, Steve continues his painstakingly slow ‘digging’. 

“Any solution?” he asks after about seven minutes. Tony grunts and looks up. 

“Right, the weight can’t be more than maybe two to maybe four kilogram – that’s about four to eight pound.” Steve rolls his eyes because he knew that. He does know the metric system. “That’s… not enough to snap my neck. So… I’m not as good at this as fucking Strange, with his stupid stone and testing out all the possibilities, but apart from sitting here waiting, I can only see one way out.” He looks at Steve, then towards the hole that’s now big enough for Steve to pass his fist through. “You’re not going to like it.” He swallows, and Steve can see that it’s dry and useless.  


Tony was right. Steve hates the plan. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not really happy with it, either,” Stark says. 

“No, that’s not helpful at all,” Steve growls back. “No other way? This is not some… I don’t know, macho-shit show to let me see how tough you are?” He knows it’s not but being angry distracts him from being scared out of his mind. 

It’s unfair and he isn’t surprised that Tony reacts to the anger in his voice immediately. “Fuck you, Captain. I don’t have anything to prove to you, so you can shove your sanctimonious bullshit right back up your ass. It’s either that or we sit here until someone comes along to get us out. And maybe as an incentive, let me tell you that even super-soldiers need to go potty! So what’ll it be, huh? Sit here in our shit and piss for possibly days or cause a bit of discomfort?” 

He’d started it, Steve knows. He also knows that Tony is completely in the right to push back, but the crude language shocks him anyway. Every now and then, he thinks he’s caught up to the times and then something like this happens and it throws him for a loop. Steve hates it, hates being reminded that he doesn’t fit, that he’s someone out of his time and this time, he can’t even fool himself into thinking he doesn’t deserve it. 

But these feelings, the anger and frustration and angst help, and Tony’s challenging, triumphant glare helps, too. With a decisive sniff, he turns back towards the wall. “On three,” he says and tries to focus on the task, visualize it so the steps are clear in his mind. “Ready?” 

A grunt, but he interprets it as a ‘yes’. 

Lightning-quick, he pushes his hand through the hole and grabs the chain that holds his left wrist. With a hard tug, he breaks it – they’re lucky, it’s not very strong – and as soon as the arm is free, he gives everything and punches through the thin wall with both arms. One, two, three punches is all it takes and without consciously looking for it, he still finds the weight – a barbell, a stupid, innocent _barbell_ , three-point-five pounds – and grabs it from the ground and then rips it off the rope and lets that go. 

Steve doesn’t know how long it took. A minute? More? Probably less – no ordinary human can hold their breath for over a minute, and a minute is cutting it already. He’d shut his ears to everything so he could do what he’d agreed to, but now the memory of the terrible, terrified scrapping and the frightening _whine_ that had come from Tony hits him all the more. He twists around quickly, nearly stumbles from being in one position for so long and hastens across the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Stark is breathing and the rope on his neck is slack, which releases an awful amount of tension in Steve. The red abrasion he had seen earlier has deepened in colour and there’s a second one now, higher, above even the Adam’s apple. “Tony?” he asks, carefully, since while there’s definitely breathing, Tony seems to be unconscious. He leans over and removes the rope, and because he’s concentrating on the shackles, he misses Stark’s eyes pop open. 

What he doesn’t miss because he can’t because it hurts is the knee slamming into his gut and the subsequent kick to his thigh, a vicious kick and he’s distantly glad that he hadn’t been crouching above Tony’s legs or he’d have been hit at a different place. 

Regenerating crushed testicles is possible, but it still hurts like hell. 

“Hey!” he yells before he notices what’s going on. 

“Away away, get off me get off fuck off let go let go LEAVE!” Tony snarls and mutters, eyes wide and unseeing. He scrabbles as if he wants to dig himself backwards through the wall and when Steve tries to grab him because goddammit, he’s hurting himself, Tony gets even more frantic. He tries to protect his face and twists away, and it breaks Steve’s heart to see him so scared, so unexpectedly terrified. 

Since there’s nothing else to do, he puts distance between them and tries to wait him out. “It’s okay, you’re fine. It’s me, Steve,” he tries to console and it takes a while to get a reaction but it’s not the one he is hoping for. 

“Shut up, shut up,” Stark hisses through clenched teeth, eyes screwed closed and taking in deep, long breaths to calm himself down. “You’re not helping!” 

So Steve shuts up and sits on his hands – literally, he wants to _do_ something. Wants to help. 

With what looks like a huge amount of effort, Tony draws in another deep breath that leads to a coughing-fit, then loses control a bit once more until he gets a firmer grip. 

Carefully, he opens his eyes and stares at Steve, still not quite there but not panicking anymore. Another deep swallow. “God, that sucked. Let’s never do this again.” His voice is shot, barely a croak, and talking is probably not the right thing. A crushed larynx would have been noticeable by now, right? Steve is relatively certain that it would. Can those things have a delayed response? 

“Was… was that a panic attack?” he asks even though he’s pretty sure that it was. It looked … well, it looked a bit like his own panic _felt_ when he woke up from the ice.

“Yes,” Tony glares as if he’s daring him to mock it. It’s disappointing that Tony thinks him capable of that, and it stings but he had just choked him out, nearly killed him so he lets it rest. “And for future references – stay back when I’m about to wake up. Like… other side of the room-back.” 

Steve bites his lip to keep from replying. It’s not the time to be snappish and insulted, even though it does sting. “Sorry,” he says instead but apparently, that is wrong as well. 

“Yeah, like that’s gonna help,” Tony mutters and it takes a huge amount of restraint for Steve to not snap back. _He’s in bad shape. He just had a panic-attack. It’s not his fault. He might not have meant it. Well… not completely. Well, even if he meant it, he’s only human._ Sam’s voice says to him and he’s got sound advice, that Sam. So instead of giving in to the urge of a shouting-match, Steve turns around to check the hole in the wall. 

There’s a second wall behind the freezer-wall but when he knocks against it, it just sounds like drywall. Everyone would be able to punch through this. With his head through the first wall, Steve turns so he can look up and yupp, it seems like the freezer was set into a larger room, or maybe whoever is holding them has just drywalled the freezer in. It’s a strange thing, but since Steve’s punches weren’t exactly quiet, he doesn’t think there’s anyone in the vicinity to stop them from leaving. 

“Okay, the second wall is just thin,” he says as he backs out of the hole. “I can just punch through it. Hope there’s no nasty surprise on the other side.”

Tony coughs a bit and winces, but rasps “Or you could try the door. You know…” he shrugs. “Low-tech solution.” 

Astonished, Steve turns around and right, there’s a door with a handle on the inside. One of those lever-like handles that require a bit of force but, as he tries it, it’s not locked and opens with a satisfying hiss. “Huh,” he says, a little sheepishly, and steps through outside to take a look. 

The freezer opens into a narrow hallway. To their right is a dead-end and about five steps to their left, the corridor bends around a corner. There’s a hiss from behind him and some scrabbling again, and as Steve goes to take a peek around that corner, he can hear Stark whisper-shout behind him. “Cap, uh… still here.” 

He grunts because of course he’s aware, but the corner is right in front of him and Steve doesn’t want them to walk into an arrangement of loaded guns. So he crouches low and looks and only when the way around the bend is as empty as the rest of their little prison does he rise up to strain his ears. 

With concentration, Steve listens into the room. There’s some noises coming from the freezer and somewhere far away there’s a ticking of heating-systems. But no footsteps, no voices. Nothing. 

When two minutes have passed, he’s certain they’re alone and he turns back to their little dungeon to get Stark out so they can finally leave. Things are looking up and apart from his own bruised fingertips – a new sensation that he doesn’t want to repeat – and the marks on Tony’s neck, they’re going to get out of this without major injuries. A welcome change of tone in their lives. 

But as he steps into the room he’d just walked out of, all the good mood vanishes at once. 

Stark is standing now, turned around like Steve had been so he is facing the wall with his arms crossed in front of him and it looks like he’s trying to … well, it looks like he’s trying to rip the chains out, or break the cuffs, but as it is, the more likely outcome will be to break or at least dislocate his shoulders and damage the rotator cuffs. His wrists, Steve sees, are already red and sore from the tugging and pulling he’s doing. 

“Jesus, Stark! Don’t do that, can’t you even wait for five minutes?” Quickly, Steve steps over to him but remembers their conversation after the panic-attack and stays to the side so he’s in Tony’s line of sight. “Have a bit of patience.”

Instead of the anticipated snark, he gets a glare aimed at him that loses all its effect because Tony’s eyes are nearly black and wide and filled with terror until they glaze over when he finally recognizes Steve. “Don’t do that!” he growls. “Don’t you ever do that again!” 

“What?” Steve asks, carefully holding out his hand, indicating the chains. Tony nods shortly and Steve grabs them. “Do what?”

“Leave.” 

For a second, Steve thinks that he’s supposed to back off but when he looks, it’s clear that it wasn’t a command. But the second option doesn’t make any sense. Stark is fiercely independent – surely he didn’t want Steve to stay and hold his hand? “What?” Still, despite the awkwardness, he tugs hard and pulls the chain right out, screws and socket and all. The second chain goes out just as easily. 

Still glaring but avoiding his face, Tony explains. “Don’t just leave me somewhere chained up or otherwise incapacitated.” He sounds matter-of-fact about it and yet it’s … it’s ridiculous. Is this some thing left over from Afghanistan? Steve doubts it, since the issue hasn’t come up ever before. 

“What? Did you think I’d just leave you hanging?” Steve jokes but it falls flat when he realizes that yes, that’s _exactly_ what Stark thought. “Whoa – what? You thought I’d just walk away and leave you? What the hell, Stark!” 

It takes effort to not get into his face now that he can move around, but Steve doesn’t want to be the kind of person who intimidates a man who just had another panic-attack. So he doesn’t.

“Look,” Tony says, tiredly, “you wanted to know, now you know. It’s a thing but it won’t be any kind of problem if we try not to get tied down like this ever again, right? So just,” he gestures with his hands, now both free, and nearly clonks himself with the chain still dangling from it. “Just don’t do it and we’ll be fine.” He turns as if he means to just walk away.

Steve blinks. “No,” he says, slowly, unable to process completely but he knows he can’t just let that ride. He steps in Tony’s way, hands raised up, palms out and still keeping enough of a distance to not be a _threat_ but also clear that he won’t just let him walk out like this. “No, I don’t think we’ll be fine. What the hell? How can you even think I’d leave you behind? That’s… I never! I would _never_!” He’s deeply hurt and insulted, but mostly hurt. “I can’t believe you’d think that of me!” He’s half tempted to just take Tony’s hands and rip cuffs from his wrists without asking first, because despite the anger he can see the raw skin and it looks truly painful. But he restrains himself. Apparently, something’s gone wrong in Stark’s brain and who knows what’ll happen if he touches him now, so he simply crosses his arms in front of him, subconsciously trying to protect his heart from more unexpected, painful accusations. “I would never leave a teammate behind.” 

“Well, that’s not any better,” Tony hisses and it sounds terrible with his gritty voice. “Because you did leave me behind! So what – I’m not even a teammate?” His eyes are still black and his pupils huge and there’s so much in them that Steve can’t make out individual emotions. Stark steps forward and gets right into his face, fingers tapping his chest now and then and the dangling chains repeat the motion like an echo. “You kicked me down and made sure I stayed down; and then you grabbed your buddy and walked out and you _left me there_! Like I’m nothing!” Steve winces as Tony’s voice breaks. But he collects himself and his face turns hard and mocking, his voice acidic. “And oh, I know holy-idolized-Steve Rogers would never leave people behind, wooho. He’s the embodiment of a hero, saving people and leaving no man behind. Except I know your secret, Stevie – that’s all bullshit-propaganda because you fucking _left me behind_!” 

Tony is so close that Steve can hear his teeth click after he finishes and then he steps back and away and takes a deep breath that results in a painful-sounding coughing-fit. 

There’s nothing to say. Steve’s grip on the cloth of his suit is tight so he can keep from reaching out to help him with the cough, sure it would be the last thing Tony would want. And yet it aches to watch him struggle until he gets his breath back under control but that’s nothing against the pain he felt when Stark threw it all at him. It had felt like a knife between his ribs and the fact that it’s true was like someone grabbing the handle and twisting it further. Tony’s right.

He did leave him behind. 

It’s not that he didn’t know that before, Steve tells himself. It’s not like he’s been unaware of that until now, not like he had a… an episode and lost his memory or something. So it shouldn’t be a surprise but shamefully he has to admit to himself that it is. He’d sort-of apologized, in a way, for everything that happened between them but that letter he’d sent had been written while he was still bitter, and the pain of Bucky’s decision to go back on ice had been fresh on his mind. In hindsight, it might not have been the best time to attempt to mend bridges, he’d _known_ that even then but he’d wanted to say it and not have it hanging over him for too long. He’d originally wanted to say more, maybe write a second letter. But things happened and life carried on and he’d convinced himself that Tony had the phone and he could call if something was bothering him. Right? And then the world had nearly burned down and they had all worked together close to seamlessly and Steve had let it rest. Thought nothing more of it; because everything had been fine, right? Tony was obviously fine and there were bigger issues, always more fights to fight and their relationship had fallen to the wayside. Sure, of course he knows that there were problems, tension. Issues. That had been obvious. But it was never important enough to pursue them, seek them out. 

Resolve them. 

Because underneath it all, they were fine. He’d been sure of it.

He’d been wrong. 

It’s painful to admit, but Steve had sort of forgotten about that day in the bunker. Not forgotten-forgotten – of course not. But it had lost importance and he had not even seen its significance until now, until he was presented with the fallout of his actions in the shape of a frantic man prepared to rip his arms off out of fear of being left behind. Because of Steve.

For Steve, the day in the bunker was wrapped in a large bundle of saving Bucky, of getting back in a frantic flight next to his mentally unstable best friend who he couldn’t even look at because there was a fundamental piece of his body missing! They had both been hurting and scared and unsure, and there had still been the issue of the rest of the team on the Raft and so many things to do. So much to organize and to accomplish and when that was done, after everything had settled and he’d started to relax, Steve had written the letter to Tony to assure him that there was no bad blood, that he had forgiven Tony for his stance on the Accords and would always be there for him. 

In hindsight? That would be called a prick move. 

Coming back to the Compound after the pardon, he’d guessed that he and Tony still had issues but he’d foolishly believed they were about the Accords, about politics. He’d thought they could be righted with a new set of Accords, with compromise and maybe some tactical admissions. Because of this wilful or negligent ignorance, he hadn’t seen that the cold shoulder from Tony wasn’t about that at all. That it was personal. 

Is still very personal. 

“You kept getting back up,” he mutters. It’s not the right thing to say, he knows, he _knows_. But he needs to say it, needs to give some kind of explanation. They’d been so furious that day. He’d tried to keep him down, just… subdue Tony so he could calm down a little, to see reason. Because Bucky wasn’t responsible for his actions, he’d been innocent! And yet nothing he’d done had worked, and at some point, all three had been prepared to kill each other. All he’d wanted was to get Bucky out, get him _safe_ , and there hadn’t been much else he had been able to see. “You were… No,” he stops himself and looks up, catches Tony’s eyes which are boiling over with pain, anger, fear and … probably sadness. But most of all anger. “No, _I_ was too out of it. You’re right. I did that. And I never … I never apologized. I tried, but I wasn’t in the right mind and I think it only made things worse, and …” he feels himself trailing towards shifting the blame away from him and that’s just not right. “Everything was so fucked up,” he whispers and looks away, ashamed that that’s all he can come up with. “Everything was broken and I was so angry… I was losing everything and I couldn’t… I couldn’t lose him. Not again. I couldn’t … There was nothing else left but him, I felt. It’s no excuse. It… We’re both not innocent in how it ended, but…” Steve had always mixed that day together with the Accords. In his mind, they hadn’t been two separate situations but one big one. They had fought over the Accords and the fight had continued in that bunker in Russia. 

For Tony, though, he now sees, the Accords and Leipzig had been one thing, and helping Steve in Siberia and that tape and Steve’s secrecy and Bucky… those had been separate issues. And he’d been too blind to understand. _You’re a stupid idiot, Steve_ Sam says and he wholeheartedly agrees. 

“No. There is no ‘but’.” No more excuses. He takes a deep, deep breath. “I want to say I’m sorry, but that’s not enough. I …” His teeth gnaw on his lip as he tries to find words that would mean something, make it better, _fix this_. 

But there’s nothing. 

Tony’s hands are balled to tight fists but his voice is calm and his face set. “Let’s get out of here first. You’ve sat on your sorry little ass for so long, it doesn’t matter if you find words now or in two months from this point.” He shakes himself and raises his chin to look up right into Steve’s eyes. “But let’s be clear, Captain. We’re not friends. I can be professional and I know you can be, too and we can work together. We’ve shown that. And I’m no angel but there is no ‘we’ in how it ended. _You_ fucked this friendship up! I’ll take whatever blame falls onto me for my decisions and my errors, from Ultron up until today, but this?” he gestures between the two of them. “This, this is all yours. I’m not taking blame for that shit, just so we’re clear. There are plenty of ways that fuck-up could have gone that wouldn’t have ended with you pummeling me into the dirt, breaking my sternum and leaving me without power in a metal-suit at -21°C in a bunker in Siberia without any communication, and _none_ of them fall on my shoulder. Not. One. So if you think there’s something to say that makes you feel better, fine. Say it, see if something changes, I won’t stand in your way. But don’t expect me to help, Rogers.” He shakes his head and takes a step backwards. “I’m done putting effort into something that isn’t worth _shit_ to you, that can be discarded like a used candy-wrapper in the blink of an eye.” With a scoff, Tony turns towards the door but looks back over his shoulder before he steps through. “Fuck you, Steve Rogers. Fuck. You! I might value your insight and your opinion and I even value your life, but I’m done valuing our friendship.” 

When he walks out, the door falls closed with a silent hiss that makes Steve flinch. 

_So this is how this ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, this is why this fic exists.


	7. Epilogue

The way out of their captivity was remarkably unexciting, except towards the end when they met a man with a gun. Tony, who had been stalking ahead because he was still silently fuming, nearly walked right into him. Being pissed-off apparently gave him Natasha-like reflexes and the man was gun-less in mere seconds. Tony also liberated his phone and called FRIDAY and a very, _very_ tense half-hour later, Colonel Rhodes and Sam arrived for some much-needed pep-talk, bottled water, a pair of sweatpants and the promise of a pick-up-flight coming soon. 

“You look rattled, Steve. Everything okay?” Sam asks as they sit on the curb together, waiting for their flight. Steve had explained about their captivity and escape and Rhodes had talked about trying to locate them and now there’s nothing much to do but wait. Tony and Rhodes are a bit farther to their right, out of normal-people’s earshot. Steve tries not to listen, but even without super-hearing he can guess what’s going on between them. 

Rhodes has Stark’s wrists in his hands, bending them this way and that to check out the abrasions while Tony pretends to be annoyed while secretly pleased about the concern. As the Colonel then tips Stark’s chin with his finger, Tony easily exposes his throat and lets his friend touch and explore the by now deep-purple horizontal bruising. It’s a casual show of utter and complete trust and it makes Steve’s chest ache.

Sam sees him look over and catches Steve’s eye. “Anything happen in there?” he asks, concerned. “Do I need to check him over?” 

Steve shakes his head and gives his friend a quick smile, grateful for his presence. “No,” he says. “Well – nothing that needs immediate care, I’m pretty sure.” He explains the setup of the rope-and-pulley-system and Sam glares towards their terrified captive who had been tied up and sat against the wall behind them. “I just… Have you ever had to realize that you’ve been missing something, but it’s only after understanding that it’s gone forever?”

Sam, quick as he is, shoots a look towards where Rhodes and Tony are now sitting on the curb, still apart from them but relaxed and bickering like a married couple, Rhodes nudging Tony to drink every now and then. “Not personally, no,” he answers the question. “I try to keep my valuables close and guard them.” A loud bark of laughter has both of them look over once more, watching Rhodes with his legs outstretched – probably to accommodate the limitations of his limbs – while Tony has his knees bent, his arms resting loosely on them so his hands dangle somewhere between his legs. The whole pose looks casual and if Rhodes hadn’t been sitting there in the War Machine suit, they’d look no different from two friends on a nice evening out. 

“Yeah. Smart. I think… no, I know I’ve been too careless with mine,” Steve admits and swallows the lump that’s forming. 

“You sure it’s lost?” Sam asks and for a second, there’s hope that maybe this can be fixed, can be restored. But a glance at the quiet smile he sees on Tony’s face when he looks towards Rhodes from the corner of his eyes, the softness spreading over his features that Steve hasn’t seen aimed towards him since… hm, definitely not since before ULTRON – chases away that notion. 

“Yes,” he admits. “I lost it.” _Threw it away like a candy-wrapper_ he hears but that’s maybe a bit too much to say out loud. He’d not paid attention, too concentrated on finding Bucky and restoring that friendship and forging a new one with Sam to realize he was sacrificing another. Steve would like to claim that if he’d been aware of things, it wouldn’t have come to this but he isn’t sure if that’s true.

The slap on his shoulder tears him out of his musings. “Well, Steve, if it’s lost, it’s lost. Beyond fixing?” At Steve’s reluctant nod, Sam humms. “Right. That’s a shame. Not much of a surprise, but a shame nonetheless. So… if you’re certain nothing can be done, here’s my advice: don’t dwell on it. Move on.” He gives his shoulder a bit of a shake. “Chasing a dream that won’t come is only going to hurt you, Steve. You, and maybe everyone else involved as well. Some things are better off left alone. Take what you still have and learn to appreciate that. It’s not worthless, even if it’s not the same as it was.” Sam looks over towards the two friends and gives a quick, slightly sad smile. “If you didn’t value what you have lost, maybe it wasn’t really worth that much to you in the first place, huh?” 

It feels like a blow to his midriff, but before Steve can say anything – what, he has no idea – the Quinjet arrives and Tony pulls Rhodes up from where he’s sitting. Considering the weight of the armour, it’s probably less Stark’s muscles than War Machine’s hydraulics doing the job but it still looks impressive and casual. Sam is already standing, so Steve heaves himself up and they trudge towards their pickup.

o.O.o.O.o 

On the flight, he sits in the back and watches Tony on the phone, probably talking to Pepper. There’re some smiles and whispering – because Stark’s voice is now pretty much gone; apparently talking with a bruised neck isn’t exactly good for the vocal-chords – but Steve doesn’t listen because he keeps hearing Sam’s words over and over on a loop.

_Maybe it wasn’t really worth that much you, huh?_

_Not that much, huh?_

_That much._

_Not worth that much._

_To you._

As the jet lands at the Compound and everyone walks out, Sam looks back towards Steve. “You coming, Captain?” 

Steve shakes off the melancholy and rises to his feet. “Yeah. I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. Thank all of you who have been following and reading already and especially those of you who left comments! I value each and every one of them. 
> 
> The story is finished now, but there's a bit left hanging that I want to add, so I'll make this a mini-series and put it in a new story (one-shot). I think Steve has the potential to be a really good person, and I've been a bit sad that he didn't get any kind of redemption-arc in the movies at all. He turned into a dick and never turned back, at least not where it counts. (he turned into even more of one at Endgame, but that's a rant for another day, or the comments and it doesn't belong here).
> 
> So MY Steve gets a bit more, and that will be the one-shot that follows. I think it'll be up today, too, so I can have everything finished. 
> 
> Have a great Sunday, everyone!


End file.
